I'm terrified I'm about to die, or that all the people I love are about to die, every second of every day.
Mine is a job that never ends, a function where it is almost impossible to set aside time to rest or take a breather.
In this world without quiet corners, there can be no easy escapes from history, from hullabaloo, from terrible, unquiet fuss.
Even if things are going well, I'm always thinking that I'm about to be hit with the dreaded gut punch and - psych! - I'll find out that it's all falling apart.
It's crazy how you can get yourself in a mess sometimes and not even be able to think about it with any sense and yet not be able to think about anything else.
The weight that hangs upon our eyelids - is of lead.
Of all the things you choose in life, you don't get to choose what your nightmares are. You don't pick them; they pick you.
I definitely have had a couple of years where I've been working constantly, but it never goes away, that worry that you'll never work again. It's a funny job. It never gets easier. Rejection never gets easier.
I had such a run of bad luck that you lose faith that good things are going to happen any more. I still don't answer the door because I went through so long expecting it to be a bailiff.
